


Long May She Reign

by Shyspyder



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s08e06 The Iron Throne, F/M, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Theon lives, season 8 re-write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 05:28:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18910495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shyspyder/pseuds/Shyspyder
Summary: Theon survives and is there when Sansa is crowned Queen in the North because they deserve it.





	Long May She Reign

**Author's Note:**

> The finale was...yeah. But with or without its flaws, it’s good day to be a Sansa stan.

It was still winter, as it would be for yet a while. It made the journey back north perilous, but not perilous enough for Sansa to pause for too long. She had already spent far too long in King’s Landing, far longer than she ever thought she’d have to.

Arya had met her halfway. They united what little remained of the northmen and the Knights of the Vale, surrounding the gates of King’s Landing.

She would never forget the way her breath left her, when she saw the city for herself. It was a husk of what it used to be. Figuratively. Literally. Somehow, it made everything seem so small. All the fears driven from her chest.

She had faced the worst. She had lost everything and then lost some more. Hells, she had even fought dead men. But she had never seen what dragon fire did to a city. Not until now.

She loved her brother. She would have died for him. But she never would have made the journey to King’s Landing in the first place, if not for Theon. Theon, who had survived against all odds. Theon, who knew her better than anyone. Theon, who was too good for any of this nonsense. 

He had missed Yara. She could see it in his eyes when they received the invitation north. A great trail in the dragonpit of King’s Landing, they said. Somehow, the pit had survived the burning. A strange sort of irony, really. And so, after the long night had ended and the dead were defeated, Theon had gone to join his sister and rally their forces. Sansa knew better than to argue. To plead, as much as her heart yearned to. She had let him go. 

At the end of everything, they would be on opposite sides. It haunted her in every moment. She would fight tooth and nail to protect her family. And  _Theon_ was part of that family. 

But it wasn’t goodbye. They both knew that. _The last war_ had yet to be won.

And so she went.

\--

She was beginning to understand how Theon must have felt when he first returned to Winterfell. Wanting nothing more than to run to her, but forced with a duty to acknowledge the dragon queen who stood before them. Sansa had a duty too, to the other lords. To acknowledge their presence and hear their words as they debated who would rule the seven... _six_...kingdoms.

Six kingdoms. 

It was a statement. A nod of the head. And just like that, the north was a free and independent kingdom. Everything Robb had died for, everything her family had fought for, was over in a single moment. But not everything was won. Jon Snow would never be free, but at least he was alive. And a part of her knew that the Night’s Watch was as good as anything he could have asked for. They had been his siblings, but he was never one of them. Perhaps the _real_ north was the only place he ever truly felt free.

And so the north had lost a king.

But it had gained a queen.

One by one, the others left the dragon pit. Silent, but not without hope. She watched in the corner of her eye as Yara gave Theon an unreadable look, putting her hand on his shoulder and nodding solemnly. He smiled briefly in return, nodding his head. She too turned away, following the rest.

Sansa didn’t know what to do with her hands. She had finally let herself look at him, her heart thudding against her chest when he met her eyes. It hadn’t even been that long. A few weeks, at most. But she had missed him. Missed his council, a familiar face in a north full of strangers. Friends now, but still strangers.

“You’re sister doesn’t like me,” she said. She tried to keep her voice from shaking by saying something simple that she knew Theon would refute. Sure enough, he did not disappoint.

His mouth curved into a small smile, eyes still sad. “If my sister didn’t like you, she wouldn’t have ordered the ironborn to keep her promise with Daenerys and let them reap the northern shores.”

There was something off in his voice. Unsure, perhaps. Whatever had happened between them faded away, given way to reality. They stood there in silence, both of them avoiding looking directly at one another. 

“I have to go home."

"I know," she said quickly. 

And suddenly, there were tears in his eyes. She knew there were tears in hers too. She held his face in her hands, staring into his eyes. She used to believe they were the eyes of Pyke, of the ocean and salt-water. But the winter was blue too.

“I know you do,” she whispered. “I know...I know…” she repeated the phrase over and over, until her face was buried in his neck.

His hands curled around her back, returning her embrace. She didn’t know who moved first, or if their lips met halfway, but she felt herself melt against him. Their foreheads were pressed together and her eyes were squeezed shut.

He whispered softly against her. “How can they expect me to leave you now.”

She blinked away the tears, and repeated the words she had said to him once before, in the cold halls of Winterfell. “Your name is Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy. You belong with your sister. With your people.”

Theon laughed quietly at her words and shook his head against her own. And then he was gone.

And so was Arya. And Jon. And Bran.

She was queen.

And she was alone….

...until she wasn’t.

Theon arrived only a few days before her coronation. There were no ironborn with him. Just him riding through the gates of Winterfell on horseback, head held high and eyes gleaming. She was running, crashing against him.

“You came back,” she sobbed. He felt stronger. She could feel muscles beneath his tunic, no longer the skinny thing she had met in Winterfell.

“I did,” he said. “I did.”

\--

He did not leave her side. Gone was the hesitancy, the scars slowly beginning to fade as she knew he could look her in the eye again. He only left her when she dressed, finding his way back to her people. _Their_ people. He was ironborn and he always would be, but he had told Sansa that from the moment he had left King’s Landing, he knew his place was with her. 

She tried to picture it in her mind. Theon standing defiantly in the halls of Pyke, eyes flashing. Queen Yara hesitant, but accepting. 

Those same eyes that met her own when they placed the direwolf crown in her red hair. He was all she looked at.

“ _The Queen in the North!_ ”

His voice was first. His voice was the loudest. Sword in the air as the northern lords followed. The North was hers--it was _there’s_.

 _The Queen in the North_.

For the first time, she was ok.

For the first time, it felt worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Main Tumblr: @inertiaspider  
> Writeblr: @amcgoldrick  
> Twitter: @mcgoldrickavery


End file.
